


The Spoof is in the Pudding

by DelphiPsmith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Party, Flying, Fruitcake, Gen, Hogwarts, Holidays, Humor, Inspired by Poetry, Magic, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 13:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith/pseuds/DelphiPsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hagrid's contribution to the holiday feast doesn't quite go as expected.  (If you squint there's a hint of Minerva/Severus, but only a hint.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spoof is in the Pudding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MMADfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMADfan/gifts).



> Written for the 2015 [hoggywartyxmas](http://hoggywartyxmas.livejournal.com) over on LiveJournal. Thanks to mmadfan for a most excellent prompt (fruitcake with side effects) -- I'm sure she had no idea it was going to come out in rhyme, but there you go, what can you do when the Muse runs away with your quill??

Twas the night before Yule, and all through the castle  
House elves had been busy with tinsel and tassel,  
With evergreens, ornaments, garlands, and holly –  
Even Gregory the Smarmy was looking quite jolly!  
Pine branches were draped o'er the chimney with care,  
their fresh, spicy scent stealing all through the air,  
while mistletoe hung in strategic locations  
to catch the unwary with surprise oscultations.  
The Great Hall was brilliant with candles and tapers,  
suspended in midair midst sweet-smelling vapors.  
In the midst was the Yule tree, its branches agleam  
with gold and with silver (a miser's sweet dream!).  
Glass baubles like jewels sparkled low and up higher:  
ruby and amethyst, emerald, sapphire.  
Flocks of doxies, aflutter and giddy with glee,  
flew bright strings of fairy lights round the great tree.  
Atop all was a phoenix of bright gilded brass,  
feathers scarlet and amber, with eyes of black glass;  
like a flame in the darkness, a symbol of light  
that would burn through the long hours of Midwinter Night.

White-draped tables were laden with savories and sweets --  
the house elves knew well what each guest liked to eat.  
There was cider and eggnog and hot spiced mulled wine;  
Poppy's mountainous trifle looked 'specially fine.  
There were gravies and sauces, all too rich by half  
and huge Yorkshire puddings the size of a calf,  
and dragon milk cheeses and kippers and chips,  
and the kinds of desserts that go straight to your hips;  
there were aubergines, mushy peas, pasta, souffles,  
coffee with whisky and powdered beignets,  
roast turkey, roast duckling, roast lamb and roast beast,  
a fantastic, spectacular, magical feast.  
And up on the dais, the center of all  
was a fruitcake that looked nearly seven feet tall!  
It was truly a masterpiece, chock full of cherries,  
bursting with currants, pecans, and cranberries.

Little Flitwick, in tailcoat and gleaming white shirt,  
was the first to the fruitcake. "Let's start with dessert,"  
said he to Pomona. "I cannot resist  
a good fruitcake – a treat that should never be missed."  
He leaned closer and sniffed. "Merlin, this smells divine!  
Molasses and cinnamon – really quite fine!"  
"My mum used to make it each year," murmured Sprout.  
"I'm sure it's to blame for the fact that I'm stout.  
Hers had quarts of rum and a full pound of butter..."  
"A true Christmas fruitcake can make my heart flutter,"  
said Flitwick while cutting a sizable wedge.  
"Here, my dear, this is yours, I shall give you the edge  
where it's crispy and chewy, the very best taste."  
"I hope it's not heavy." She patted her waist.  
"Fruitcake has so often an unpleasant weight.  
One feels that one's eaten not cake, but the plate."

"Not this 'un," beamed Hagrid, who had overheard.  
"This 'un's light as a feather, I give yeh my word."  
Sprout swallowed the mouthful of cake she had taken.  
" _You_ made this, Hagrid? You must be mistaken!  
No offense, but we know as a cook you don't rate,  
and this cake, well, it's prize-winning! Champion! First-rate!"  
"I know as how fruitcake can be like a brick,  
so I talked to old Snape and he give me a trick  
It won't weigh yeh down, have as much as yeh wish!"  
And he set an example by filling his dish  
with a huge slice of fruitcake and, opening wide,  
the whole massive chunk slid swiftly inside.  
Sprout laughed. "That's the way to eat fruitcake, my boy!"  
and she forked down her own. "Delicious! Enjoy!"  
She sauntered away but the men stayed behind,  
seduced by the fruitcake's rich, dark, spicy rind.  
"I'll just 'ave one more," Hagrid said with a belch.  
"Why, yer plate's empty, Filius, here, let me help."  
"Well, if you insist." Flitwick's eyes were aglow.  
"Though we really should leave some for others, you know..."

Augusta looked round at the small, cheerful crowd –  
She approved of their fun: not too soft nor too loud.  
"Augusta, my dear," Albus said with great charm.  
"You're looking quite splendid -- may I offer an arm?"  
"But of course, my dear friend," Mrs Longbottom smiled;  
"Shall we sample the punch? I hope it's not mild.  
It's the holiday season and one should be festive.  
Yule Punch should be more than a gentle _digestif_!"  
"Your theory is sound," Albus gravely agreed.  
"If we find it's not strong, I've a bottle of mead—"  
"Oh the punch is a killer, don't fear on that score!  
I heard that Pomona and Poppy have swore  
that their Yule Punch this year will beat all of years' past!"  
Madam Hooch, with a laugh, said. "So don't drink it fast!"

Minerva, meanwhile, on her third cup of punch,  
decided 'twas past time to act on a hunch.  
"Young Snape, the puir man, he's too dour and too grim --  
Mayhap Yule's the night to invigorate him."  
She glanced all around and, away 'cross the room,  
saw the Potions Professor exuding a gloom.  
Approaching the man with a mischievous grin,  
"Come Severus," she said, "will ye go for a spin?  
Your dress robes are dapper, your hair nicely styled;  
it's Yule, you're permitted a wee bit o'wild.  
I hear you have many a talent that's hidden;  
If ordered to dance, will you do as you're bidden?"  
Snape scowled and looked down; he disliked being teased,  
though Minerva's kind words left him secretly pleased.  
"I will dance on the day pigs – no, _Hagrid!_ can fly,"  
he shot back, but she spotted a gleam in his eye.  
"Tis a promise you've made me, and I hold you to it,"  
then she left him to go talk to Muriel Prewitt.

As Augusta and Albus approached the feast table  
the old wizard looked thoughtful: "I hope that we're able  
to sample the fruitcake?" But none could be found --  
alas, Flitwick and Hagrid had gobbled it down!  
Not a slice, not a bite, not a crumb for a mouse  
remained on the plate. "Tsk, Flitwick, you louse!"  
Mrs Longbottom scolded, "You've eaten it all,  
you and that great shaggy what-you-may-call!"  
Little Flitwick looked thoughtful. He licked at his lips.  
"I feel rather strange round the feet and the hips."  
He tried a small step but it came out a wobble;  
then he skittered and skipped with a bibble and bobble.  
"Why perfessor!" cried Hagrid, his voice a bass roar,  
"Yer feet – why, they ain't even touchin' the floor!"  
It was true! Flitwick's shiny black leather-clad toes  
were inches above the Hall's floor! And he rose!  
And he rose and he rose, till he bounced off the ceiling,  
in a way a balloon might have found quite appealing.

He bounced here and there and then managed to turn  
and look down on them all with no whit of concern.  
"This is lovely!" he shouted, "I feel like a feather!  
_Leviosa! Wingardium!_ Free of my tether!"  
"Are yeh all right, perfessor?" bellowed Hagrid. "Don't worry,  
I'll get yeh right down, I'll be there in a hurry."  
Then the half-giant squatted and sprang with a yell --  
and shot into the air like a bloody gazelle!!  
A squawk of surprise, then he gave a pleased howl:  
"I'm flyin' like Norbert! I'm a great ruddy owl!"  
And there were the two of them flitting about,  
Up and down, left and right, here and there, in and out,  
like a wren and a condor, one huge and one small,  
looping and swooping all down the Great Hall.  
With gusto and glee they flew hither and yon,  
While the crowd down below vied at cheering them on.

"But what's caused this?" Augusta asked, face all afrown.  
"And how in the world will we get them both down?"  
"To answer this question, we must ask the cook,"  
Albus twinkled. "I fancy he misread the book  
or perhaps added something not usually found  
in a fruitcake. I hope it was nothing unsound?"  
"Course not!" Hagrid called from his perch near the roof,  
"It's as safe as yeh please, and I'll give yeh the proof:  
I told Snape I was makin' the fruitcake this year  
so he give me a jar of some herbs (they smelled queer).  
He said I should add some to lighten it up.  
He said 'Add one or two'." "I meant TEASPOON, not CUP!"  
shouted Severus, pale face gone crimson with ire.  
"Now you've done it, that's torn it, the fat's in the fire!"

Minerva marched up and seized hold of his blouse.  
"Now haud your wheesht, man, this is no time to grouse!  
I am sure that you are not the man to renege  
on a promise that's given, no matter how big.  
Clearly Hagrid is flying: you owe me a dance.  
Take my hand; now you bow, I curtsey, and perchance  
you'll discover what fun can be had as you whirl  
'cross the floor with your arm round the waist of a girl."  
"You're hardly a girl," Snape observed as they spun.  
"Oh admit it," she said, "You _are_ having fun!"  
His eyes asked a question, her eyes promised more;  
he smirked, and maneuvered her out of the door.  
They heard Hagrid exclaim as they waltzed out of sight,  
"A good yule to all and to all a good night!"


End file.
